


Heaven and Hell have nothing on you

by Resa_Saso



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, In a way, M/M, Sick Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-05-01 16:34:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19181656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resa_Saso/pseuds/Resa_Saso
Summary: Crowley got injured and makes the only call he has ever known to make - Aziraphale takes care of him. (It's honestly just a bit fluff, because I thought Crowley deserved some love for once.)





	Heaven and Hell have nothing on you

The second hell spit him out again, Crowley felt his head whirl in confusion and pain. For a split second, while he crawled over the floor, reaching for the saving grace of his bed, leaving a trail of demonic blood behind him, he was reminded of his fall. Reminded of how he had turned from an angel into a snake, crawling over the ground, hurt and kicked and aching somewhere deep, deep inside of him, a place he had never known could ache.

But this was different. It had to be different. He had barely managed to make it through back then. Hastur and the others had picked him up and showed around hell, growling and shouting so much his head had rung, and they had celebrated all night. Or day? Time didn’t matter in hell, where everything was dark and cold and empty. So empty.

He hadn’t felt like celebrating back then.

Never, not once, had he belonged in heaven, where all the angels blindly followed something they called morals, when in reality, all they did, all they believed in, was just a twisted, different shade of wrong.

Falling hadn’t fixed that feeling of not belonging. It had just thrown him into a different state of alone, a state where people pretended to be around him, to be like him, pretended that he had found his place when the truth was – This wasn’t it, either.

It was Earth that held him together. All these people, all their fates, somehow intertwined, even though they rarely even realized. All these busy lives around him, making him feel like he was part of something bigger, even in being alone.

He had felt connected to them from the first day on, when God had sent for him to try and seduce Her first humans, had known they were the golden middle he had craved for all his life – With their own critical minds, their ability to question the choices and choosing to both ignore good and evil, ignore sides, ignore ancient battles and categories with simple, undefeatable logic: Why wouldn’t I take this apple, planted here right in front of me?

And right there, in the middle of all this mess, of Crowley’s realization that maybe, just maybe, God’s plan for these humans, Her most beloved children, had been their own road, their own idea of right and wrong all along, that’s when Aziraphale happened.

He had happened, because there was no other word for the effect he had had on Crowley – Struck him dead like a lightening.

It was ridiculous – The truth was that Aziraphale had been… well… soft. He had been gentle and calm, the exact opposite of whatever had happened inside of Crowley, where suddenly waves were crushing against his walls, calling to never leave this angel again.

He had stood there, ready to give two sinners his Flaming Sword and face God’s wrath, and in that very moment Crowley had known what he needed.

An angel able to love a sinner.

Ever since then, he had been drawn to Aziraphale and pulled further and further away, from both, heaven and hell. His place was here, on the middle ground, amongst all these people who were together in being alone.

And so was Aziraphale’s, even though he didn’t realize it quite yet.

Crowley growled in pain, trying to get rid of all the unwanted memories, the thoughts running up and down in his head. He couldn’t use them right now. His whole body was hurting from the wound in his chest and the last thing he needed was for that eternal ache to return that had come with his fall.

Aziraphale, he thought. He had been the one to pick him back up off the ground back then, he could do it again.

He needed Aziraphale.

Okay, okay. Phone. Phone first, then Aziraphale. With a groan of pain, Crowley pulled all his strength together and miracled the phone closer, making the call with trembling fingers – Thank God, for once, his phone lines didn’t mess everything up and he managed to get through.

“Angel,” he grunted into the phone, feeling the edges of his vision getting blurry. “Need you.”

Before he could even hear Aziraphale’s answer, the demon had already passed out, while his blood gradually seeped into the sheets.

 

 

He woke up to an indignified huff, which turned out to be the sweetest sound he had ever heard.

“Angel?” he asked weakly, his view still black, as he couldn’t find the strength to turn around and had his face pressing into the pillows.

He could hear Aziraphale’s voice from the living room.

“I’m here. Tell me what you have done in here, will you? There is blood everywhere. If you have harmed someone and want me to clean up the mess, I’m telling you….”

He heard the steps right beside him, and then heard Aziraphale stop with a sharp breath.

“Crowley! What happened?”

He had to give the angel some credit – Within seconds, he was by his side and Crowley could feel the matress shift beneath him as he climbed on the bed. Carefully, achingly gentle, so gentle Crowley had to keep his eyes pressed shut, the angel tugged at him to turn him onto his back, then pulled away the torn up clothes to uncover his wound.

Crowley wanted to laugh at the irony of it all – Oh, how long had he waited for Aziraphale to tear his clothes off him? – But the sound turned into a pained cough and he quickly stopped again.

“Shhh,” the angel hissed, all angry nurse now. “This looks bad, but it’s not unfixable. I read quite a few books about taking care of wounds, I should be able to manage this.”

“You’ve read every book about everything,” Crowley huffed bitterly, finally opening his eyes.

He was greeted with a tenderly worried, warm gaze and it nearly took away his breath.

His brows furrowed to a frown of worry, his eyes full of affection and despair, Aziraphale gently laid a hand onto his stomach, holding him down.

“Who’s done this to you?”

Crowley looked down at his chest, saw the five marks right next to his heart, where Hastur’s claws had ripped open the skin and dug into his flesh. They were still bleeding, but Aziraphale had began running around the room hastily, trying to find something to fix him up with.

Of course, demons didn’t die all that easy, but they could still, most definitely _hurt_. And he couldn’t miracle the wound away, because it was caused by another demon.

He closed his eyes again, letting his head sink back into the pillow.

“Who’d you think?” Crowley asked, his voice sounding far too weak for his own liking. “Guess Hastur thought he had a score to settle.”

“You shouldn’t have gone,” Aziraphale gave back, suddenly sounding like a sullen child. “I told you, you shouldn’t go.”

Crowley smirked. “And since when do I listen to you, angel?”

Scoffing, Aziraphale climbed back onto the bed and sat down right on his hips, and Crowley swallowed hard, hoping his body wouldn’t betray him right now. With all that blood flooding out of his chest right now, he couldn’t possibly still have anything left down there, could he?

But to his relief, this seemed to be the last thing on Aziraphale’s mind.

And because no relief could come without horror, Crowley realized that the angel held his most expensive Whiskey in one hand, pouring it over a piece of fabric he had somehow clambered out of his drawer.

“What are you doing!” he groaned, watching the precious alcohol spilling onto his sheets.

Aziraphale looked up from his sacrilege with utter innocence in his eyes.

“Desinfecting. Now, this might sting a little.”

“Angel,” Crowley hissed, as the pain made tears shoot into his eyes. “What the hell are you doing, I’m a demon, I don’t need disinfection.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale made and quickly pulled the rag away. “Oh. Right. Sorry. Got a bit carried away there. In all the books it says… And Hastur surely hasn’t the most sterile of claws, so I figured…”

“Just bind up the wound and hold me, will you?”

His head was swimming, the pain dizzying his senses, and regret and shame seemed to clearly suffer from the consequences and just stay away.

“Right,” Aziraphale muttered, climbing carefully off the bed again. “Right, I’ll get some bandages, don’t you move until I’m back!”

Crowley swallowed down a comment about where he was thinking he’d go, waiting impatiently until his angel returned.

“Alright. Can you sit up? Here, I’ll help you.”

He looked awfully sorry while helping Crowley up into an upright position, and he could feel the angel’s fingers tremble around his shoulders. Cautiously, the demon raised an arm, grabbed Aziraphale’s chin and forced him to look into his eyes.

“I’m fine,” he promised. “You’re here and you’re helping me through this, that’s all I need. Now get on with it, will you?” He couldn’t help but add these words in the most annoyed tone he could currently manage, dropping his hand as if it’d gotten burned on Aziraphale’s skin.

What was he _doing_?

But surprisingly, Aziraphale just visibly swallowed down his uprising worry and guilt, and nodded, his lips clenched together in determination, as he started wrapping the bandage around the demon’s wounds.

“Here you go,” he muttered, while taking it round for round around Crowley’s chest. “All better now. You’ll be fine in no time. Everything will be just fine.”

Crowley wasn’t sure which one of them he was trying to reassure, but he took in all the words anyway, letting them comfort him for now.

“That’s enough, angel,” he whispered quietly when Aziraphale had almost used up the whole role of bandage.

He nodded, shortly, then began binding the ends together, tightening the bandages.

“Is this alright? Or too tight?”

“Just right,” Crowley assured him, and held open his arms with a smile on his face, that could only be described as _soft_. “Please?”

Aziraphale only hesitated for a single second, then cautiously lay down beside the demon, ignoring his offer, and taking him into his arms instead, so carefully and tender as if he was afraid to break him.

Crowley felt something rise up, a pain and tiredness, a sting that had rested in his heart, so old and acquainted, it was a weird feeling when it suddenly dissolved, gone with a single, silent sob he hoped Aziraphale hadn’t heard.

His hands clawed at the other’s shirt, and for once, his stupid, vain angel didn’t seem to care about his clothes, didn’t care about the wrinkles and blood stains, and just held him close to his chest.

One hand gently ran through Crowley’s hair and he sighed happily, leaning into it subconsciously. When had he last been held like this?

The demon blinked.

Never. The answer was never.

“Should I say thanks?” he asked, because it had become tradition for them. His voice sounded hoarse now, but stronger.

Aziraphale smiled ever so gracefully.

“No need to. You’re my best friend.”

Crowley took a deep breath. Despite having known it, despite having said it himself, despite having been shown it, he had never heard these words before and they were, somehow, far more prettier when someone else said them, than when he did.

He just assumed that was part of being a demon, a creature of shadows, flames and hell.

“Thanks,” he still said, because he meant it and wondered if Aziraphale knew what he really thanked him for.

His only reply were fingers steadily running through his hair, gently helping him drift into sleep.  
  


 

When Crowley reluctantly woke again, he was sure for a minute that everything had just been a dream, that he was lying alone in his bed, slowly bleeding out.

But then he realized that the comfy pillow underneath his head had a steady heartbeat and softly lifted with every breath. He opened his eyes with a smile he simply couldn’t supress.

Somehow, over night, they had tangled up into one another. His head was resting on Aziraphale’s chest, his arms wrapped around him uncomfortably, one of his legs shoved between the angel’s, who had his own wrapped around his hips. It had been ages since he’d been kicked out of heaven, but for a few seconds, Crowley was sure he was right back again.

That’s when Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered open.

“Oh,” he muttered sleepily, clearly disorientated for a few seconds.

When he finally remembered what had happened, he gave Crowley an almost tentiative smile.

“Are you feeling better?”

Caught between the realization that Aziraphale wasn’t moving a single millimetre to change their positions and untangle from him and the fact that he was looking utterly _adorable_ , the way he was blinking and looking down at him sleepily, his blond hair standing up in every direction, Crowley needed a few seconds to answer.

“Yeah,” he said, and then, because he thought it was a pretty bare statement that needed definite clarification, he added, “kiss me.”

Aziraphale seemed to be immidiately more awake now, ripping his eyes open in surprise.

“Are you serious?” he asked incredulously, and Crowley shrugged, then quickly stopped the movement as it sent pain through his chest.

“Yeah? I’m hurt and it’s part of the healing process.”

Aziraphale frowned.

“That’s funny. I read a lot of books about it, but not one of them stated anything about ‘The kiss of an angel heals flesh wounds’.”

Crowley grinned. “Are you sure sarcasm isn’t a sin, angel?”

“As sure as I am that kissing a demon would be,” he gave back, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and to Crowley’s endless joy, he leaned down and pressed his lips onto his almost chastely.

The demon was not having any of it. This was his one chance, he was not going to waste it. Ignoring the pain shoothing through his body, he raised his arms and pulled the angel closer, deepening the kiss and found it with a mix of surprise and relief passionately reciprocated.

Far, far too early, however, Aziraphale stopped the kiss, pulling back from him slightly.

Crowley sulked up at him in disappointment, so apparent on his face that it made the angel giggle.

“Sorry. It’s just… you’re hurt. I don’t want the wounds to rip open again.”

“Aw, come on,” Crowley groaned. “What’s a little bit of kissing gonna do?”

The angel raised both eyebrows.

“Fine,” Crowley conceded, knowing they had been headed to a whole new sin just as well as Aziraphale did. “Fine. But if I die of angel deprivation, it’s on you.”

The angel in question giggled again, giving him another chaste kiss on the lips, before pulling him into his arms again, holding him closely.

“I can give you this, it should hold the deprivation at bay.”

“I don’t know,” Crowley replied, tone playfully serious. “It’s been building for quite some time. 6000 years, I believe.”

Aziraphale shook his head, taking on his earnest tone. “You should’ve just asked earlier.”

They both started laughing, which far too soon ended in Aziraphale casting him an accusing look for flinching from the immidiate pain.

“See! You’re staying in bed! No moving and no discussion.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Angel, I’m not made of paper. I can get up a little, stretch my…”

Within a second, Aziraphale had rolled over him, boths hands on his wrists, pulling them down into the matress.

“No!” he said firmly, with more determination than Crowley had ever known he had. “You’re staying _right_ here.”

The demon couldn’t help but grin.

“Make me.”

Aziraphale’s eyes, darkly glaring into his, wandered down and he could see them resting on his lips for a second too long. With a swift movement, the angel grabbed his face with both hands, leaning down and kissing him hard.

They kissed until both their breath ran out and their heads swam, dizzy from want and lack of oxygen. When Aziraphale finally pulled back, his lips were swollen and his eyes gleaming darkly.

“Hell,” Crowley laughed. “Angel. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Yes. Well.” He took a shuddering breath, a hand running through his hair sheepishly. “Me neither, to be quite honest. We should really… uhm… take a break. You’re really not up for more, yet.”

As much as he hated to, Crowley had to agree.

He snuggled up inside his angel’s arms instead, happily sighing. He couldn’t remember a time in which he had ever felt less alone.

Every heaven, every hell he had ever needed, were right here beside him and for now, wonded and hurt and kicked out, he had no doubt that he had found his perfect middle.

“Hey,” he asked. “Don’t you have a bookshop to run?”

The angel rolled his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere until you’re all healed up. I know you. You’re getting up and yourself into trouble as soon as I’m out the door.”

Crowley grinned.

That had been almost _too_ easy.

“Oh well,” he conceded playfully. “Then I guess I’ll have to live with your continuing company.”

Perfect.


End file.
